Exponential
by Crispy For A Change
Summary: But the moment would pass. The moment would end. My final piece couldn't reflect a moment, that was my own rule. I didn't want to express what had already been expressed, already been lived out. Art was meant to be for things that had no other medium of being communicated on. If I knew what to communicate, it would have been communicated. Just what was I dying to say?
1. Base 10 to Base 2

Like clockwork, there he was. His blonde hair soft and tossled, his head was bent over, his whole body hunched over the journal on the table. He hand worked quickly, scritting down as he looked back and forth between his book and the journal. The hand not holding the pencil took turns between thumbing through the pages and typing away at his calculator.

Every day, 11am, he was a set fixture in the shop.

Dirty chai with whipped cream, two packets of raw sugar, and a cheese danish, also prepared at 11:03am, delivered to his table at 11:10am, and sat to cool beside him and his spralling books, mathematical tools, and journals. It was not going to be paid attention to for at least an hour.

The boy pushed the book away and grabbed at his hair. He uttered what was likely a frustrated curse, but it was too quiet to be distinguished.

Wiping my hands on a dish towel I straightened my apron and made my way to his table.

´´Hey now, no domestic violence in my shop´´ I chuckled.

He let his hair go and raised his head to shoot me a puzzled, almost annoyed look.

´´Excuse me?´´ His voice was borderline squeaking.

´´Well, you know, your wife down there,´´ I gestured to the book, ´´She keeps coming back for now but, there´s always limits.´´

The puzzlement wasn´t lifting.

''It- it's a joke. Sheesh. Do you ever spend time with the world beyond her?'' I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed exhasperatedly. He looked over towards his book and paused.

''Differentials.''

''..Excuse me?'' What?

He turned his gaze back towards me, ''It's differential equations. Calculus. I'm working on composing an equation, but the parameters of the variables are too numerous to be narrowed down. I don't know what exactly I'm working with if I don't have a clear answer.''

''Well.'' Well.

He waved his hand and drug his book back to himself.

Scrit, scrit, scrit. There he went.

Back to math world with the guy.

I hummed and made my way back behind the counter. There was a woman who had apparently been waiting a full 15 minutes for service. In reality it couldn't have been more than 5, but the customer is always right, right?

I started making her cappucino. My fingers working through the motions, tip already lost at that point, and my mind back on the table to the right, by the window.

I knew his name was Roxas. He was attending the university in town. Hollow Bastion Technical, a prestigeous school for mathematicians, engineers, and scientists. His family had established presence there, his twin brother attending as well as their father and mother having been alumni.

It was the top university in the country, and I was there only because a need to fill diversity quotias and a partial scholarship that I won for being gay. Their art program was equally as top-notch as their other curricula. Which, given the focus of the institute, was pretty astounding.

I was working my way through school. Being a barrista at the local coffee shop paid for the remaining portion of my tuiton as well as put food on the table. It wasn't so bad, we mostly had university students order minimum, enough to make them a paying customer, and camp out with their textbooks for the hour s between classes.

Roxas, he had been here everyday since I started, always at 11am. I recognized him from the Welcome Back assembly. He was in the Society for Future Scientists, the exclusive club for the cremé-de-la-cremé at the school. This meant he was also top in the nation. 21 but already a few semesters in to his PhD. When he left the shop he was headed to panels, meetings, and presentations.

Popping the lid onto the drink, I handed it off with a smile.

The smile not being for her.

When I got off work, Demyx was outside waiting for me. He was smoking his cigarrette and chatting with Zexion. The both of them were bundled up in their thick coats. I shrugged mine on as I closed up the shop, locking up.

It was dark already for only being 6 at night. The sky was a glowing gray, making a promise for snow to fall. The streetlamps that lined the streets were bright halos in the darkness. The bugs and dust that flew under the lights were starkly visible. Breathing made clouds spill from your nostrils and mouth.

I drew in the sharp, crisp air through my nose. It was nice to take a moment of air in the gentle silence of the night. My friends would bring noise and commotion, joyful, mirthful, but distracting. I liked my thoughts to speak from time to time.

''Hey, Dem, Zex.'' I raised my hand in a casual wave. The two were quick to snap their heads towards me.

Demyx chuckled happily and walked over to pat my back.

''Axel, my friend! The night is young and so are we!''

Haha, I love this guy.

''Well, so it would seem. Perhaps there is only one youth here.'' I flicked Demyx's forehead and grinned. He flinched and I had to duck to miss his swat at my face.

''I am in agreeance.'' Zexion smirked with his eye, the other one covered by his slate gray hair.

''Oh come on, that's not fair.'' He managed to smack my shoulder.

''Love and war baby!'' I raised my arms in a come-at-me-bro motion.

''In all seriousness, Axel, are you wanting to head to the Studio?'' Demyx stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels.

The Studio was an art bar in town. One could work on his art all through the night, whilst nursing a drink. Admittedly, too many drinks made for poor work, but hell did it make it more fun to do.

''Considering winter break finals are just around the courner? Hell yeah, I do.''

Despite all the distractions of the drinking and others' musics and conversation, the Studio was the most peaceful place for me. It was hard wanting to go home to my small apartment. I had to be vigilant in my neighboorhood. As was expected of housing that a student working a part-time, minimum-wage job could afford. It wasn't necessarily awful, I had yet to experience crime, but if I ever were off my guard I am sure that would be quickly remedied. Times were hard. People are doing what they have to in order to get by. It was painful knowing that not everyone had the opportunities that I do. These opportunities that I was very close to not having.

We made our way to the bus station on foot. Demyx smoked, walked, and talked. Zexion, as pensive as ever, added but breif contributions to the conversation. Demyx was talking about his class today. They had taken a fieldtrip to the local museum. In there they set up their papers and sketched the statues in loose charcoal. As expected, when I looked over at his clothing, Demyx had the soot smeared across his shirt and pants. The beauty of the art was in the rawness of building charcoal up on the page. It was like building a 3Dimensional statue, except it was locked in to a 2Dimensional plane.

"You know Axel, professor doesn't like the smudgedness of my art, but then he complains if you apply things too lightly. He's always on about contrast, yet I give it to him and all he can say is that I'm working too dark. Make up your mind, bro!" Demyx flicked his cigarette. Zexion provided a small chuckle.

"Dem. Demy. Dem, dem, dem dem," I wrapped my arm around his shoulder," He only does it because he believes in you. He wouldn't waste his time correcting you otherwise. It's a compliment!"

Scoff, from his place beside me.

"He could do it nicer.."

I shook my head; there was no winning with this guy.

"How went work?" Zexion's voice was quiet, as always. Lucky bastard that Dem and I hadn't blasted our music to the point of deafening us.

That was a good question though. It was a pretty typical day for me. Perhaps.

"Y'know. Just absolutely glorious! Fantastic! Serving the public. The general pop-u-lace-eon." I folded my arm against my chest in a mock bow. "I am always pleased to serve~" que fake French accent.

Demyx scoffed. Again.

"You know what he means, Ax. How goes it with blondie?"

"Him? Did I not say my day was typical?"

"Axxxxxx, come on. You still haven't introduced yourself?" Demyx whined.

"Well, you know, it kind of slipped my grasp in between his monologues. I couldn't get a word in edgewise."

Smack.

Ouch, Demyx has a good hit.

"Ok, ok. He started talking about mathematic mumbojumbo and I just kind of froze." I reached into Demyx's back pocket and took out his cigarettes. I fished again for his lighter. He wiggled his butt and I made a face. I lit the cigarette quickly, not to apt to keep holding onto the lighter that had rested so close to my friend's ass.

"Hey Zex, you know anything about Calculus?" I swiveled my head to the other side of Demyx. Demyx looked fearful. Like me, Demyx barely squeaked by College Algebra.

Zexion raised his eyebrow at me. Of the three of us, Zexion was the only one versed in both mathematics and arts. He was also a bit of an over-achiever, he was double majoring in studio arts an physics. Which meant he was also taking classes with Roxas in it.

"What about it?"

Shit. I don't even remember what Roxas had called it.

"De..molition? ..Motion? ..Vilation?"

Hell, I don't know.

"Deviation?"

Stupid, fancy-ass Zex.

I nodded.

"Well first of all, you need a solid foundation in-"

"Nope. Ok, nevermind."

Zexion made a noise of annoyance and shrugged.

The Studio was fairly crouded tonight. The three of us meandered through the people that were standing idle in front of the door. No doubt some were already on their way home, having either been drinking since early, and then booted out, or else the responsible college students who had cut themselves off after one drink.

There was a person with a paintbrush, they had obviously been drinking too much because their brush was not properly rinsed. For their sake I hoped it was a loaner brush from class and not a personal, small-fortune investment of a tool. Paint was leaking off the end spattering the concerete in a burnt orange. To be fair, the drips fell artistcally amongst the blue-grays and yellows already donning the floor.

We went through the door and made our way downstairs. The room was set up so that there were individual rooms, which were boxed off, and inside there was lighting that could be adjusted. The rest of the room and by the bar was dimly-lit, like a typical bar.

The bouncer nodded at us when he saw us. We had been coming to this place weekly, some weeks daily, since we began school. He didn't need to see our I.D.s, so we skirted past the small queue that formed as people were fumbling through their wallets.

Zexion bee-lined to the individual studios, trying to find an empty one that would fit the three of us. Demyx looked quickly at me, an unspoken question of if it would be ok for him to follow. I gestured to myself, cocky smirk on my face, as if I needed chaperoning. Ha.

A fun, quick-beated song played overhead. It made me want to dance. It was one of those you-just-broke-up-with-me-and-I-don't-give-a... Yup.

I moved my way through the floor, meandering my way nimbly around collections of people, headed to the bar. I wanted a White Russian and damnit, I wanted it now.

I muscled my way in to rest my arm on the counter where the bartender was fixing up drinks. She was a beautiful woman. Her hair was thick, volumous, and came down to her waist. She had perfect barrel curls. Her smile was charming.

"Excuse me, Miss!" I gave her the casual three finger wave. "One White Russian, please."

She gave me a half smile, the courner of her mouth pulling back, in a laid-back manner. Her eyes met mine from under a titled-down head. Wowza.

"Axel!" My shoulder was smacked and I nearly jumped. Nearly.

"Riku." Sure enough, the man made his way into my vision. He was giving me an incredulous look.

"How come it is whenever I see you, you're trying to flirt? Does the flirting continue consistently, or do I just have bad timing?"

"Jealous?" I winked and blew Riku a kiss. He pretended to catch it and then threw it to the side.

"Where's Sora? You never fly solo."

The bartender put my drink on the counter. I fished out cash from my pocket, sent another wink her way, and told her to keep the change.

When I met back up with my two, Sora, Kairi, and Naminé were chatting them up outside one of the studios. Apparently there were other students who had the same idea in mind about starting their final projects. The only rooms left were large group ones and so we were teaming up with the others. Riku and Naminé were the half of the group that made art. Sora and Kairi were here for the drinks and socializing. Not that either of the two particularly needed alcohol; both were positive, well-composed people, who burned of their stress by socializing. The probable truth was that they wanted an excuse to go with Riku, because they couldn't produce any legible art, the alcohol was the only other thing the place offered. Riku didn't normally drink.

I got my easel set up between Demyx and Riku. Zexion had chosen to use a drawing horse, so he was awkwardly low to the ground compared to our standing and super high stools. Zexion had mild cerebral palsy which affecte his legs. When he had to stand for long periods, it hurt. His muscles were always super tense because of it.

Naminé drug a drawing horse beside Zexion. Her sketch book was medium sized, and so it didn't make sense for her to use an easel; they were clunky and awkward. They began light conversation. By light I meant their voices were soft. Very alike, those two.

I hung my piece of paper on my easel, taping it with the blue painter's tape. My project was going to be a charcoal portrait. My favorite tool in art was the vine charcoal. There was nothing like getting your fingers all full of soot as you build up the charcoal on the page.

For warm-ups, I decided to sketch the others. I got one of Sora grinning, drink in hand, whilst Kairi had her hand covering the laugh that was warming her ambiance. Naminé had abandoned her sketchbook momentarily to watch over Zexion's shoulder and he painted a koi pond in watercoulour. Riku was sketching Sora and Kairi, so I did a profile of him turned in concentration to place his friends on paper. I sketched Demyx with his tongue out, squinting and holding his thumb out in front of him to visually measure the pottery he was drawing.

When I finished drawing my friends, my sketchy warm-ups to get my brain oriented to art, I paused. I had stacked my papers together on the floor. The drawings rest by my right foot. I had captured things in the moment. The moment was great, the setting was great, that atmosphere was homey and great.

But the moment would pass. The moment would end. My final piece couldn't reflect a moment, that was my own rule. I didn't want to express what had already been expressed, already been lived out. Art was meant to be for things that had no other medium of being communicated on.

That was the problem.

If I knew what to communicate, it would have been communicated.

Just what was I dying to say?


	2. Base 2 to Base 8

I woke up to the sound of the phone screaming at me. I fumbled through my blankets to throw them off my torso. I patted the bed, looking for the source of the noise. I found stuck in between my sheets.

Click.

"H'llo?" I rubbed at my eye and wiggled my way to an upright position.

"Axel, are you there? Hello? How are y-"

Click. Nope, too early for that shit. I held the off button until it powered down and then threw my phone on the carpeted floor.

Fuck, what a night. After I'd found myself stuck on subject matter the night was too internally dramatic for my taste. My friends had kept their energy up with each other. Their artistic progress went well into the night. I had left at 2am, but everyone else was still at it.

I left the bed in search of my work uniform and bag full of textbooks. I cleaned my room every Saturday, so by now it wasn't entirely tidy but it was fairly picked up. My uniform was resting neatly beside my laundry basket. I had dumped my clothes from yesterday there, perhaps in the hope that it would become clean by proxy. I wasn't a physics major; who knew what was possible?

Backpack gathered and set by the bedroom door, and uniform on, I made my way out to the kitchen. Through the blessed combination of my job and foodstamps, I had some eggs in the refrigerator, whole wheat bread, and some coconut oil in leiu of butter. I took out two pieces of bread and staged them in the toaster. I set out two eggs on the counter, found a pan, and dumped a spoon-full of coconut oil in the pan. Once the clumps had melted into liquid and began to steam I popped down the toaster and broke the eggs into the oil.

I prodded at the eggs with a spatula as they thickened and became more opaque. The toast popped up so I platted them, spooning out some of the heated oil to dress it. Eggs flipped yolk in-tact. I grabbed the garlic powder, salt, pepper, and parsley from the cabinet above the stove. The eggs were beginning to brown so I inspected both sides carefully, deduced they were done, and wedged them from the pan to the toast. A few grindings of pepper, some parsley flakes crushed from my thumb and forefinger, a few pinches of garlic powder, a dash of salt, and my breakfast was complete.

I sat myself at the table with a mason jar of water.

I was one of those people that had to eat breakfast in order to wake-up. My metabolism burned fast, and so I needed a steady stream of small snacks to be able to keep my energy going. Though I enjoyed coffee, I prefferred to drink water to really wake-up.

I ate my breakfast in relative silence. I wasn't too big on television and I had no flatmates.

Today I had work in the morning and classes in the late afternoon and evening.

I had Art History first. It was pretty neat, but honestly I was not as interested in the human artstic timeline as I should have been. Logically it was important and it would help guide your artistic style and decision making. However in practice it didn't do much for me. I was more into realism than stylistic interpretation. I did not bring psychology into art the way most did. I studied the natural world and how lines, line value, shade, curvature, size, etc. made me feel. I did not draw in such a way that I inserted decisions that were informed by style. I was literal that way.

After Art history I had a Yoga and Meditation class. It was a great buffer after the previous class.

My final class was Advanced Studio. I was nervous for it after what happened the night before. I felt like a big wedge had been inserted between me and my creative flow. Almost as if I were attempting to scream except no voice would come out.

I took my empty plate to the sink and rinsed it off.

I went to my room to collect my bag. I paused in the doorway as I was bent down to lift my pack. I saw my cellphone on the carpet and debated picking it up. I wasn't really in the mood to hear from my mom or dad today. I just knew I had a voice message waiting for me from them. My mom would be franticslly trying to stuff in questions before the phone would beep at her, letting her know the message ended. I couldn't deal with her before work. She knew I was alive and making enough to pay my phone bill, and that was good enough for me.

Sighing, I stuffed my phone into my bag anyways.

There was a draft coming from the door so I bundled up from the coat cabinet next to it. I wrapped a green scarf around my neck. My coat was a mid-length black one with wool lining. My gloves were also a green-dyed wool. I bundled my head with a plaid trapper hat.

I walked into the open hallway and saw snow falling from in front of the railing and roof covering. A few other people on my floor were making their way to thr elevator and stairwell area. Being the youthful, able-bodied individual that I was I chose to take the stairs. It was a refreshing warm-up for the day to climb down the four flights of stairs. Being that it was winter it was also helpful to get the blood starting to flow.

Snow had kept falling through the night because despite the people making their morning treks, their were hardly any footprints on the ground.

The chilly air was quick to render my cheeks and nose numb. Thankfully there was no wind or breeze; the snow fell softly down.

I jogged off and on for the 10 minutes it took to travel to the busstop.

Since my phone was inside my backpack, turned off, I didn't know what time it was. The morning bus came frequent enough that if I had missed it upon arrival it would be only another 10 minutes before another one reached the stop.

It ended up that my timing was good and only a minute passed before the bus came.

Number 66A.

It was the bus that I always took. That was the bus that drove into town and stopped by the university. It was far easier to make my way into the city and then bus from there as necessary. Otherwise I would be waiting for buses that came few and far in- between. So I would not have much forgiveness built in should I happen to be late.

I love the feeling of riding in a bus. The gentle vibrations of it was soothing. Honestly the bus ride erased my stress of the morning, but at the same time it also undid all that I had done to become awake and alert. It was an awful trade-out, yet I never seemed to find the balance between being peaceful and being awake. I was either spaced-out and calm or else I was tense and alert.

The warmth of the bus, the buzzing of the heater, and the vibrations lulled me into a meditative state. I almost missed my stop. I was so calm that i didn't even care.

The smell of coffee was rich and enticing. Riku was already behind the counter, his hair pulled into a ponytail. He had begun brewing the brew of the day. From the smell I could tell it was our toffee brew. That was one of my favorite ones, the flavor was buttery and sweet; it was a smooth textured coffee.

Riku looked up as the bell atop the door rang, signaling my entrance. I gave him a small wave and meandered back behind the counter.

"Hey, stranger. It's been a while." I quipped.

Riku laughed and shook his head. "You're on busing duties right now. You just missed a big rush."

I hummed a quick "mm" and reached under the counter for an apron. I liked busing duty. There was less social interaction that way.

I took out a circular tray and went to the table to collect up the dirty dishes. I scoffed at the unfinished food on plates. I did not like when people wasted food.

I went back -and-forth between the dining room and the sink. It took about five trips to get all the dirty dishes off the tables.

It wasn't until my sixth trip from the sink that I realized there was someone occupying a table. It was Roxas.

"You're here early." His shoulders jumped back a little. He must have been really invested in his work. Although, it wasn't unusual for him to be that way.

"My brother came in late last night and it woke me up."

I glanced around the rest of the dining area to make sure no one had come in. There was a line of two people but they were not sat, so they were taking their orders to go. Feeling free to do so, I pulled out the chair across from Roxass and sat down.

"You're brother is Sora, right? You're twins?" I propped my arm on the table and rested my cheek in my cupped palm.

He laid down his pen and looked at me with furrowed brows.

"How do you know that?" His voice was sounding slightly edgy. I moved to wave my hands in front of me.

"Woah, calm down there, buddy. I'm good friends with Riku and so I hear him and Sora talk about you."

He frowned.

"Nothing bad. Sheesh. You're just important to Sora. Of course you get brought up."

Nothing.

"Uh.. I'm, uh, Axel." His expression was making me feel so awkward. Come on, kid. Blink, breathe, scrunch your nose, something!

"So. Math?" Finally. He looked puzzled.

"What about it?"

Aye, Dios mio.

"You're studying it. You tell me."

He wiggled in his seat and glanced away.

"Well. I'm studying what I call psymatics. Not to be confused with psycomatics. I say that psychology can be set to numbers. After all, emotions are a biochemical response to stimuli. Our brains are generally consistent, by nature they work in patterns due to their programming. Because our reactions are consistent, if you remove enough variables to have the situation narrowed down to a simple cause and effect, I say that emotional reactions are inherently mathematic. Social interaction and being are large, complex equations, yet at their core they, too, have their own physical properti- oh. Uhm."

I thought I felt my eyes glaze over and I guess they must have.

"Nevermind. Everything is an equation. My work is just isolating situations to formulate the equation."

"So, uhm." I scratched my head and winced. "That's.. Cool, I think." Uhm. "Hey, do you like coffee?"

He snorted and gestured to the walls of the cafe.

"Right. .. Right."

Uhm.

"Axel!"

Oh.

"Yeah. Gotta go. Nice chatting with you, Rox."

I clumsily wormed out of my seat. Riku was a serious worker, and he did not sound happy. I tripped on the leg of the chair but didn't look back as I heard the chuckle come from Roxas. The line had grown bigger in my brief absence; it surely was a decent hour in the morning now.

The rest of the morning shift happened in a blur. It wasn't a full house type of busy but rather a steady pace. Customers were back-to-back, with only a few minutes of breathing in between.

When things cleared out considerably I took out a slice of banana cream pie and poured myself a cup of the brew of the moment. The brew was hazelnut roast. I liked it but the hazelnut was usually too light to be tasted. I grabbed a few little servings of hazelnut creamer and sat down at the table Roxas had been sitting at. I liked that it was removed and allowed me to oversee the dining area.

I scooped off a bite of my pie with my fork and munched it down. I had a big sweet tooth.

''Hey Riku, what can you tell me about Roxas?''

I heard Riku hum in thought.

''That's- he's-.. Well. He's a story in himself. What do you want to know?'' I heard him curse at a cup that slipped his grasp and fell into the soapy water of the sink.

I mirrored his hum, taking a slow, thoughtful bite of my pie. ''How come he's so different than Sora?''

Snort. Sploosh, another cup jumped back into the water.

''He's..,'' Sploosh. Curse. ''Uh.'' Sploosh. Curse. Growl. ''Stupid dishes.. whatever. Axel you're on dish duty when you come back. As for Roxas, he's different. He's always been different. He just thinks.. very. Literally? He's very mathematic, but you noticed that.'' He moved to start making a fresh pot.

''Ah.''

''Why the interest?'' Oh, gee, I don't know. A kid shows up to your workplace daily, prattles on about math, when he does speak, and he's the twin brother of a superbly outgoing guy, now what about that makes you have questions?

''Just curious.''

I gobbled down the rest of my pie, gulping my lukewarm coffee to wash it down.

I made my way over to the sink and ploped my dishes into the water. I brought out a clean dish rag and laid it next to the counter. I began finishing what Riku had started.

''How're the classes going, 'ku?''

''Eh. You know. My French proffesor is hard as ever. I wish I could combine all of my art class finals into one project. That's college life though."

"Art History is draining. I don't know how you pay attention. Too many names, dates, and countries." I took a cup from the sink and scrubbed it with a sponge. I then rinsed it with hot water over the empty sink. At the end of the line I put it upside down on the drying rack by it's handle. It dripped onto the clean towel.

"The easiest class of the degree and you somehow manage to find something to complain about." He threw his hands up in exhasperation.

"I'm getting an art degree because I don't want to study written word." I moved a plate through the line and placed it between a pair of slats in the drying rack.

It was one thing studying anatomy and composition. It was a whole 'nother thing to be studying information. I just didn't see why it was so important for a degree in art.

Riku was lucky. He was artistic but he also has the mind for other studies. He was minoring in engineering. He was taking the semester off from science and mathematics classes to focus on his art. We weren't studying the same art, we just happened to be taking Art History together.

I was in Studio Art. I wanted to work with physical materials. I liked the feeling of my fingers manipulating things. I mostly worked on things with pure tools; vine charcaol, pastel sticks, clay... Whereas Riku worked on digital art, animation, and artistic programming. Basically he was using his engineering with his art. He not only drew up things digitally, he also coded and manipulated to bring things to life. His goal was to work for a large animation studio. He had big visions and he liked the idea of having a fully-staffed studio to work towards realizing them.

Not a lot of people realized just how intensive animating movies were. Each portion of the screen, each second, each still, required full attention. If snow was falling they needed a physisist to render the motion. They needed someone savvy with geometry to understand how the physics and the environment shapes each individual flake, and then the whole balls of it. There needed to be a lightings speacilist to make the lighting natural, they also needed a comprehensive understanding of all this to be able to correctly light everything. The snowball effect, hehe, is that each person after would need to work things with the knowledge of all that came before it and all that composed of it.

At least, that was the rant Riku gave me. I'd memorized it at this point, after having asked him ten times. It was likely though that I'd forget, and then continue to ask him. C'est la vie.

"Anyone in there?"

Shlop. My sponge hit his back and in the process squeezed out dirty soap water on his shoulder. Score.

"Mature."

One hour later, two soak stains on the back my shirt, traces of whipped cream along the front and my apron, and I was glad to have a fresh pair of clothes to change into. Riku wasn't one for immaturity, but he sure could be provoked into it.

Our afternoon relief came in and I fled to the bathroom to get changed.

Riku and I walked together to the campus, which was only across the street. Our actual class was a five minute walk. The campus was more wide than tall, so it was quite a trip to navigate around it. At least the buildings were nice to look at.

The campus was one of the oldest in the world. The bricks were a deep red-brown.

The lecture was on, who knows. I don't. I could copy Riku's notes later. I was too deep in my head to pay mind to what was going on around me.

My mind fell into my backpack, onto my turned off phone. I had left that life behind. That was no lomger me. I had no idea why my mom kept trying to reach me. Honestly, I only kept my phone number so she would know I was still alive. If she thought I was dead she would come looking for me relentlessly. I wanted to be left alone.

I felt my old life crush down on me when I lay to sleep. I felt it when I woke up. When I looked in the mirror, there it was. My face was sagging, the bags under my eyes were deep and purple, my eyes couldn't make contact with their reflection. I did my hair from my peripherial vision.

All the breaths I took were heavy with memory.

Please just go away. Please, go. Go.

I blinked myself back into the real world. The lecture hall painted itself back around me. Sounds dopplered passed my ears until I blinked a few more times and then it came back inteligible. I curled my fingers into my fist, nails into palms. I wiggled my toes.

"...as...by... Going... He was..."

I clenched my entire body.

Come back, Axel.

Come on.

Back.

Now.

Wake up.

Wake.

Wake.

WAKE UP"-So, as we see from his brush strokes, we understand the value of..."

I blinked and saw Riku to the side of me giving me a questioning look. I placed my pointer finger to my lips and nodded towards the bottom of the room where the professor was talking.

I took to drawing in the margine of my notebook for the rest of the lecture.

Riku approached me after to ask if I was alright. He said I freaked him out. I laughed at him, telling him that that hurt my feelings. He rolled his eyes. Honestly, I appreciated the concern but I didn't want to talk about it.

Riku didn't have to know. Nobody did.

I didn't even want to know.

I had let myself get obsessed. I let it bite me. I let it drain all of my blood, until I was nothing without the other person. I was no longer me. I was an entity that could not exist outside of someone else. That kind of passion, crazed passion, was a sick shame that clawed inside of me. To become so desperate, so reliant, as to trap another was sickening.

It haunted me.

I wanted it to remain a ghost, no matter how far it followed me, I needed it to stay phantasmogoric.

The rest of the day once more thinned into a cloud of haze. My body moved and acted but my head was twisted inside itself. I couldn't really tell anyone what happened, save for the small glimpses of time, quickly blinked away. It was like every so often someone would take a photograph and that was all I could see. I'd blink and wouldn't open my eyes again until minutes later.

I just needed to get home.

I was fortunate to not have a car, because in this state I would not be able to navigate home safetly. It was challenging having such delayed reaction. My arms and legs would move, knowing where to take me, before my mind did. It would back up my brain like an overloaded computer processor; my mind would still be figuring something out, my body would move, and that would add more to the pile of things to process. So I attempted to stop thinking and elected to go numb. I wasn't going to fight through the fog.

My apartment was toasty, as thanks to the rest of the building having their heaters on. It was a nice feeling to go from the chilly, winter air into the warmth.

I stepped out of my shoes at the doorway, placing them on the shoe rack next to the entrance. One-by-one I shed each of my layers and filed them away accordingly. My scarf, gloves, and hat went into one drawer. My coat was hung up in the hanging space of the dresser. I dug out a pair of socks from the drawer underneath the one I had just put stuff into. When all layers were shed I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt nice to be lightweight again.

I padded over to the kitchen, socks now donned. I bent down to get a sauce pan from the bottom cabinet next to the stove. In the refrigerator I had some apple cider, I grabbed that and a few cinnamon sticks from the spice cabinet. I poured the cider into the pan, dropped in the cinnamon sticks, and left it to boil.

I went back to the front door and collected my bag, setting it down on the kitchen table with a soft thump. Searching through my pack I pulled out my music player and speakers. I started humming the song It's Beginning to Look Alot Like Christmas as I navigated through my play list for festive music.

Most people groaned at the change of season. There was much outrage that following Halloween was already starting the Christmas season. Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday, not the history behind it, just the way it was celibrated, but I also liked Christmas. I loved the cold, the snow, the fires, the spices, the scents, the food.. I just loved the entire atmosphere.

As I found the song I was humming my cider was starting to boil. It filled the air with the aforemented spice. I turned the heat down and placed five minutes onto the timer. I brought down a mug and squeezed a layer of orange blossom honey on the bottom.

The house was too quiet without the music. It felt lonely at times, living alone. The freedom was nice. The silence was at the exact same time a blessing and a curse. Creativity needed peace and it needed passion. Sometimes it was one or the other. Passion was being out with friends, it was the same energy I had when I felt wrapped up, cozy, in company. Peace was never answering to another. Peace was solitude, uninterupte me. It was like my being extended into ever corner of the house, which may as well have been the whole universe. The expansion of me and the drive of companionship fueled my art.

Everything need be in delicate balance.

Balance, which is so hard to maintain.

I settled myself at the table, hot cider and an apple, and dug my books out from my bag. I paused when I felt the cool screen of my phone on my fingers. With hesitation I clutched it in my hand and drew it out. The screen was shiny and I could see a reflection of my face on it. I had left it on long enough, double-checking that by a glance at the time on the stove, that my mom was asleep.

It was early morning for her and so she would be asleep. When she did try contacting me it was always in the evening or before bed in her timezone. That corresponded with my mornings. Her calls were almost always missed by me. I set my alarm for early and would usually be outside doing yoga or getting ready for work.

There was a lot of nature for us being a big, university city. It was only a half-hour walk from my apartment into forest. There was a hiking trail another half-hour out. I like to practice poses on the side of the base of the mountain. There was an abandoned temple I had discovered. Apparently the university had built it for the meditation and yoga studio, but lost the fundings for hosting the class there. The maintenance was costly, or so they figured. I just did the work myself. Why hire people who get huge chunks of munny by the hour when I'm perfectly capable?

The temple was my project for when I wasn't at work and all my classes were caught up. Aside from yoga it also made a lovely retreat for creating art. However, like with my apartment, the pit fall was that I was alone. I didn't often have the passionate energy to work of pieces out there. On the rare occassions I felt motivated, the atmosphere of the place helped me produce some of my best work.

I sighed and pressed down the power button of my phone until it came on.

Three beeps let me know I had a voice message.

Two seperate beeps let me know I had texts.

I canceled out of the notification box and pulled up my texts.

I had one from Riku asking me if I was ok. Two messages were from Demyx; he wanted to know if I wanted to go to the Studio again tonight. The final one was from an unknown number. Wary, I responded to the messages I knew, ''yeah, man. Dnt wrry bout it'', ''nah, bro. im tired''.

I cracked my neck, left side, crunch, right side, crunch. I rolled my shoulders back, one shoulder at a time.

Ok.

I opened the message from the unknown sender.

''Hello, this Roxas. I acquired your number from Riku. I am writing a dissertation on physics and psychology. I am needing to meet with you and ask you questions because your brain is artistic. From inquiries with my brother and Riku I have deduced that you have trouble with mathematics and science. This means your mind extends beyond what mine is capable of comprehending. Please message me back and let me know if you will be able to work on this project with me. Thank you, Axel.

Roxas.''

I blinked a few times.

I scrunched up my cheek, alternating which side, and squinted. I put the phone on the table.

Hm.

Well, shoot.

I smacked my cheeks with the tips of my fingers.

Uh.

I picked the phone back up and typed.

''Sure'' ...Too informal

''Alright, that sounds good. I'll help you'' ...Too buddy-buddy

My cheeks puffed up with air and I squeezed my eyes shut.

''Hey, this is Axel. I will help you with your project. Please let me know where to go from here.

Sincerely,

Axel.'' ...Too formal

''Hey, it's Axel. Sure, thing.'' There.

Click. Schwoosh. Sending.

Cool.

Cool.

I gulped down my lukewarm cider and munched my apple down in big bites.

Cool.

I put my dishes in the sink.

Cool.

I re-stuffed my bag with my books, notebooks, and sketchpad.

Yup.

Ding! Text message.

''Awesome, thank you Axel. Do you have time this evening? I know it is short notice but I had not expected such quick reply.''

-''Sure. Let me shower. Where shall we meet?''

Pause, one, two, three, four seconds

''The university co-op space? It's the building on the north end of campus.''

I went there with Zexion once.

-''Alrighty. Give me 10 to shower and then 20 to get there.''

''Mk''

Cool.

I rushed off to shower, stripping away my clothes as I speeded towards it.

...Crap.


End file.
